YouTuber - Part One
by Memedog
Summary: John Jacobson is a lonely boy. His mother is abusive, he has no father, and, worst of all, he has close to no friends. This story focuses on how John creates his YouTube Channel to start making money to leave his terrible life. Warning! this story has dark themes and a fair amount of coarse language. Intended for Mature Audiences and those who want a good, mature, story.


The Chronicles of Beephburga

Chapter 1:

DISCLAIMER! This work does not represent any persons, living or deceased. Any relation between characters and real world people is entirely coincidental. Moreover, the sole inspiration for this work was a YouTube channel.

You can find it here: channel/UCGXacznuzLOpkgsrU2CjhPg

John Jacobson gazed longingly and intimately into his computer screen. He loved to use YouTube. Whether it was to watch videos of Clash Royale or to watch what now would be called "cringy" try not to laugh videos. He didn't care what those other people would say; he loved his Clash Royale and try not to laugh videos. He was an entertainer of sorts. Ever since Clash Royale launched, he wanted to share his infinite love on the mobile strategy game with other people. It was almost as if the game was talking to him: "Do it John, make a YouTube Channel! Share our deep and intimate relationship."

"Okay. I will become the new greatest YouTuber!" He exclaimed, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he jumped out of his chair. "I will make the best videos on Clash Royale, but what's a damn good name?" He thought to himself for a minute, thinking long and hard about the name of the new most popular YouTuber. "All the best YouTubers have a food item in their name! That's it!" It was the adrenaline speaking. He had no idea how flawed his logic was. He thought of a food item everybody loved, and, given that he was a fat fuck, he adored beef burgers. It was the perfect name. However, most other YouTubers don't follow the conventions of regular English spelling. He needed to abbreviate and replace regular boring letters with all the "cool cat" letters. He had the perfect name: Beephburga.

He leaped from the one clean spot in his room back onto his stark white wheelie chair. He heard a loud thumping on his timber door. A small stream of dust settled on the floor.

"Son? What the fuck is going on up here?" inquired a shrieking voice.

John thought to himself: " _Fuck! What if mother finds out?"_

"I said, what the fuck is going on up here!"

"Nothing mother, I am taking a shit."

He thought saying something like that would buy him some time.

"What the fuck? You're taking a shit in your room? Who in their right fucking mind raised you, you dirty shit?

"You did!"

"Alright then."

He heard his mother, Aisha, stumble down the stairway. A loud crashing sound of broken glass pierced the airwaves, followed by a strong shriek that was louder than a dog whistle, if his mother didn't fall asleep, she will stomp up the stairs and beat him out of aggravation from her broken vodka bottle. He hated his mother for the drunk whore she was. Every day it was the same shit, come home pissed, irritate son and fall down the stairs, he had no father either. He was sick of his fucked up life. He thought that his YouTube channel would be a way out of this. Little did he know that no person could give a shit what a random 15 year old from Brisbane, Australia, wants or thinks, it was just the way the world was. However, he didn't know that.

After the shrieking stopped and his mother passed out from her blood alcohol level, John got back to celebrating his idea. Although he had an issue with the name of his channel. Beephburga wasn't enough. With his fast moving, but pudgy fingers, he typed in BeephburgaGAMING. He was too tired to realize the "gaming" in all caps. Whilst most of his friends wouldn't consider him a gamer, given he used a mobile phone and still played Minecraft, he did not bother to keep with just Beephburga. That was too boring. He stood up from his chair and walked across the sea of used underwear and shirts with splotches of beige, where one could manage to see some of his carpet. He flopped backwards onto the crumpled bedspread with a large creeper on it. He felt his inertial force affect the bedsprings, almost having enough force to launch him up a couple of millimetres, but alas, he was too much of a whale.

He lay there, tired, for 30 minutes.

Afterwards, he got up and exited his room. He needed to take a shit. He took long and heavy steps down the wooden stairway as he approaches the toilet. He passed his mother, who was lying at the bottom of the stairs. It was a wonder how she hadn't broken her neck. During her sleep, she had a habit of saying things she previously said to John.

"What did you just fucking say to me, you little bitch?" She moaned, half of her top lip sliding across the polished wood floor. She left saliva marks all over the floor immediately following the bottom step.

"Jesus mother! Look at your fucking self! Do you think that this is good for you? You are one fucked up bitch." He said, as mildly as possible. He continued to the bathroom to take a shit.

5 minutes later.

After leaving the bathroom, he got a paper towel wipe. In the period when he was taking a shit, Aisha managed to regurgitate her lunch, and the half dozen glasses of vodka, which followed after. John gathered as many paper towels that would be needed to clean up the giant mess made by his mother.

"I'm honestly fucking sick of it." He mumbled to himself. He wiped up the vomit and cleaned the broken glass.

Crunch.

"Fuck me! Oh fucking hell!" He yelled. A broken shard of glass went into the ball of his left foot.

"Thank Christ that didn't wake mother," he whispered. He proceeded to yank the shard of glass from his foot. Blood started to gush out of the wound. Sealed it with a piece of tape.

10 minutes later.

He finished dragging his mother's unconscious body into her room. He had rarely seen the inside of it. It had pornographic photos plastered all over the walls, with her bed covered in sex toys. He left her lying on the floor at her bedside table.

It was a long day.

He looked at the clock in his room.

1:00 AM

He lay down on his bed, switched the lights off.

"Things are going to fucking change."

With that in mind, he fell asleep.


End file.
